


stay and watch

by laurenkmyers



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Masturbation, Re-Write of a canon scene that ends in canon compliance, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurenkmyers/pseuds/laurenkmyers
Summary: A smutty divergence of the 'Stay and watch the fight, Alfie' scene. Tommy makes Alfie stay a little bit longer so he gets exactly what he wants.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Kudos: 37





	stay and watch

Alfie’s hand is warm and solid in his; a weighted balance of light and dark, an unclothed palm connects with a leather-bound one.

“Stay and watch the fight, Alfie.” Tommy asks without the added inflection of a question. He chooses the words carefully, eyeing up at the man who is standing far closer than is probably deemed appropriate for two _platonic_ gang leaders.

He blinks up at the powerhouse of a man and stays silent waiting for a response. Physically it looks like Alfie might turn him down. It irks him more than it should, because Tommy _really_ doesn’t want Alfie to leave, not yet anyway. So he comes up with a _mutually beneficial_ plan to sway him in the right direction. He pulls the sturdy hand he still has gripped in his a little closer to his face, bringing one of Alfie’s gloved fingers to his lips. He pauses to make direct eye-contact, and then swirls his tongue suggestively over the tip.

“ _Stay_.” Tommy says as he trails the slick leather across his bottom lip. His other hand wanders up to catch the front of Alfie’s long black coat as he pulls him further into the crux of his thighs, leaving no room to question his intentions.

Alfie’s eyes spark with growing curiosity and Tommy _knows_ he’s received the distinct message loud and clear. He delights in the knowledge that he can evoke such surprise in his secret lover, even after all this time.

Alfie likes the power he has over Tommy, basks in it, in fact. But sometimes, just _sometimes_ , Tommy Shelby takes the lead.

A tumultuous relationship like theirs, one that spans years, and nothing _truly_ shocks them anymore. It thrills him to know that they still have moments like this that he can treasure.

Two powerful men of their own making, who unite, then fuck, then fight. And then unite, and fuck, and fight; the never-ending cycle continues, but the respect always remains the same, no matter who’s doing the uniting (usually Tommy), who’s doing the fighting (usually Alfie), or who’s doing the fucking (this one is _mutually beneficial_ ). They’re both so reliant upon the challenge they each bring out in one another that it tends to knock them flat on their arses the moment they actively do come together in their shared pleasure. It always invokes a sense of exhilaration, on both their parts, but it’s heavily layered in a feeling of impending doom; like each time they allow themselves to have, and more importantly _enjoy,_ as if it's their last.

Throughout Tommy’s inner monologue of their affairs Alfie has swept up the opportunity to bend dangerously close to Tommy’s ear.

“I feel like I need to be honest wiv you, sweetie.” He pauses. “Your old pal Alfie, right,” He pauses again to scrape a leather glove over his beard, the sound of which makes Tommy close his thighs tighter around the other man’s legs in response. “I didn’t exactly come prepared for this kind of fight tonight. I was just gonna say me piece and get the fuck out, mate.” He leans back out and grabs Tommy’s chin with the hand that was just on his beard, tilting his face up to see him clearer in the dark haze of the room.

But Tommy doesn’t yield his coveted control just yet; instead, he pushes Alfie away with a solid palm on his chest and readjusts himself on the bench. He unbuttons his perfectly preened trousers and pulls himself out so that he’s sat back against the wall, fully clothed, but now his naked cock stares up at the two of them invitingly. Alfie visibly gulps at the sight.

“That’s okay, Alfie. I’m always prepared. You should know that by now.” Tommy's lip curls up at the corner with a look that says: _tell me I’m wrong_ , and then without warning spits into the palm of his hand. He keeps his eyes firmly locked on Alfie and wraps his now slick palm over his rapidly hardening length, up and down, and up and down.

The hunger in Alfie’s unfiltered eyes spurs him on; makes him pump harder, and faster, twisting his wrist in the way he knows drives the madman _wild_. Alfie’s eyes track every stroke with relentless devotion; he even lifts his fucking half-mooned glasses between his eyes, without blinking, so that he can get a better look. He now has a crisp clear view of Tommy’s sins, for his eyes only.

Alfie picks at his gloved fingertips to relinquish their tight squeeze, but Tommy shakes his head mid pump.

“Keep them on.” He whines long and loud as his movements pick up the pace.

Unbelievably, Alfie does as he’s told, securing the glove back on, stepping forward as he readjusts. But Tommy notices the movement and stops what he’s doing entirely.

“I told you stay and _watch_ , Alfie.” He flicks his eyes over to the bench his partner previously vacated, signalling his intent.

Alfie huffs his annoyance, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath, and without any other audible defiance he folds again.

Tommy can’t quite believe his luck; he’s positively giddy with it.

The sulking bulk of a man retakes his seat on the opposite bench and trails his lustful gaze up and down Tommy’s body, landing on his presently lonely cock. Once he’s seated and Tommy knows the message has been read he continues, reacquainting his hand with his eager cock.

The roar of the crowd upstairs buzzes in his ears, but he doesn’t allow it to drown out the little pants he releases each time he hits a perfect angle. He lets the noises flow freely, forcing them higher and higher as his hips join the fray, pushing up and into the blessed friction. He succumbs to the overwhelming sensation, closing his eyes and sinking into the depths of his desire. He hears a snarl from across the room.

“Open your fucking eyes, Tommy.” Alfie’s voice commands. The primitiveness of it makes Tommy's insides _burn_.

Alfie’s authority exudes off him in waves; even now, in his supposedly powerless state of being he still has the ability to ruin Tommy in five words. And this time Tommy yields, does exactly as Alfie says. He opens his goddamn traitorous eyes and locks them with Alfie’s; shameless and black with an unbridled hunger simmering in their penetrations.

Tommy stares at Alfie for so long he forgets why they’re even down here in the first place; solely focuses on obeying his lover’s demand. He forgets all about the convulsing appendage lying wet and rigid between his fingers.

But the moment he realises his distraction, his eyes snap back into focus, only to witness Alfie nodding his head, giving him express permission to continue.

_And how in the **fuck** did Tommy lose this battle of whims so spectacularly? _

Not one to give up without a fight, Tommy Shelby crosses the battle-worn frontier that dangles precariously between them and falls head first into delicious temptation. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and pulls himself off with even more conviction than before, dips into the very core of pleasure without once dropping his sky blue gaze; anything to entice the tempestuous beast from his rattling cage.

“ _Alfie.”_ He hums, low and dangerous.

Alfie growls his approval at the sound of his name.

 _Got him_ , Tommy thinks deliriously; hook, line, and sinker.

He watches Alfie shift uncomfortably in his seat. _Finally_ , Tommy thinks, he might be able to turn this back in his favour. He observes the affected man rearrange his trousers to alleviate the ache. 

Tommy understands Alfie better than anyone else; strong willed and rebellious. And in most conflicts will fight tooth and nail to get what he wants. Hence, the mere thought of Alfie’s compliance in his current state, fighting against that strong-iron will to give Tommy what _he_ wants makes him feel dizzy. The idea of giving in and letting them both take what they need is overwhelming. But he won’t, too stubborn and set in his ways. Tommy pushes on.

Alfie is a willing participant in this obvious power play between them, deadly and corrupt as it may be, he knows what’s being asked of him: sit idly by and watch Tommy fuck himself with a hand that doesn’t belong to him. Tommy knows how much it fucking _kills_ Alfie to surrender, but shockingly the game continues without resistance.

Alfie licks his tender lips and juts forward in his seat, almost like he can’t contain himself any longer, like he might just cross the line and reach out to touch. He almost does too until his cane falls dramatically to the floor. Both palms now free, he splays them out over his knees. They rock backwards and forwards in time to Tommy’s own ministrations.

Tommy’s breath hitches in his chest as he twists a little harder over the weeping head. He can see every nerve ending in Alfie’s body sizzle beneath the surface. His palms are no longer flat across both knees. They’re clenched tightly into fists that dig deep into his thick thighs, frantically trying to stop himself from lunging forward and taking what he so desperately wants.

It ignites a spark in Tommy’s spine as he clings desperately to the feeling of release about to splay across his chest.

“Look at me.” Alfie’s soft voice croons. “I want to see your pretty blue eyes as you come for me.” Alfie begs, hoping to tip him over the cliffs edge with his sweet words. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me see you, Tommy.”

Tommy loses it at the use of his name, loves the way it sounds with Alfie’s gravelly, southern drawl. He comes hard and fast, and his vision blurs from keeping his eyes trained on his lover, per his request. He lets the feeling of completion wash over him.

Luckily, he manages to catch his release in his hand, and after a moment of silent reflection he comes back to himself. He swiftly pulls a handkerchief out of his inside pocket to wipe himself clean when all of a sudden Alfie is in his face. The man has moved so quickly that Tommy doesn’t even have time to process it, and considering Alfie’s back isn’t quite as spritely as it used to be he’s shocked at the unexpected agility.

But his shock at Alfie’s abrupt appearance fades into a different kind of surprise when he watches the man in question pick up his sullied hand and mouth at it like an enthusiastic child licking at an ice-cream, savouring every last drop.

When he’s done he takes his own handkerchief out and wipes the residue from his lips. Tommy blanches and sits in stunned silence.

Alfie laughs down at him for a moment before pulling him into a messy kiss. Tommy can taste himself on Alfie’s tongue, he moans into the mingling of their scent as it peppers his own.

Suddenly, a masculine energy erupts upstairs and the unfiltered sound of it echoes around the room, and Tommy is reminded of where they are. He relishes the idea of the two them doing this here in such a place, where anyone could walk in and see them; Tommy, with his flaccid cock still hanging out of his trousers and the notorious ‘Wandering Jew’ with his vicious tongue down the Gypsy King’s throat. It makes for an intoxicating image.

A familiar stirring in his belly makes Tommy’s already spent cock try desperately to ignite the simmering flame of desire. But Alfie breaks the spell and hauls himself up and away.

“No need to look so scandalised, mate.” Alfie laughs at the look on his face. “I’m tryin’a do the gentlemanly thing, right.”

“There’s no gentlemen here, Alfie.” Tommy says, eyeing the obvious bulge in the front of Alfie’s trousers. “But if you insist on semantics, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of like a real gentleman should.” He tugs at the seam of Alfie’s trousers to bring him closer.

Alfie shakes his head and grips Tommy’s eager hand in his. “Not tonight, Tom. This was just for you, darlin’, yeah. I’ll get mine next time I see ya. But for now, I got places to be.” He gets a whimsical look on his face before continuing, “Right! Little piece of heaven is within my grasp.” He turns back to Tommy, “You understand, yeah?”

Tommy blinks up at him in confusion, but accepts the dismissal for what it is, not _at all_ taking it personally. He pulls out a cigarette from his inside pocket and lights it, leaves it dangling between his lips as a welcome distraction for his bewilderment. Tommy’s not used to not getting his own way.

“I can’t make you reconsider and stay for the fight, then?” Tommy eventually asks, trying to gracefully tempt the man into staying, one last time.

Alfie’s eyes draw down to the smoke now seeping out of his lips, then back up to meet his gaze.

“Na, you’re all right. I already know who wins, dun’ I?” Alfie says jutting the glasses he has in his hand for emphasis right in Tommy’s face.

Alfie turns and leaves without another word, leaving Tommy to his turbulent reflections.

He bows his head reluctantly in what he recognises is defeat, Alfie’s last ominous words leave him feeling a little empty.

“Ta-ra!” Alfie booms his goodbye, interrupting the intrusiveness of his persistent concerns. Tommy knows _something_ feels off about the man’s exit, but it’s not enough of a rumbling to cause immediate harm, so he doesn’t dwell, not now, not ever really- not where Alfie is concerned, not anymore. The man always has a way of tactically scrambling his brain, and it’s not always with the best of intentions, but Tommy refuses to let it get to him this time. He wipes at his kiss-swollen lips and shakes himself out of the feeling so that he may re-join the success of the night still ahead.

Although, Alfie’s mantra from earlier does linger in the pit of his stomach for the rest of the evening, rattles around waiting for further review:

**_Big fucks small._ **

Yeah, he’ll have to remember that one.


End file.
